


You shall go to the Halloween Ball!

by Hypatia_66



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Cinderella Elements, Gen, Halloween, Minor Character Death, THRUSH
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-22 03:17:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21068381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hypatia_66/pseuds/Hypatia_66
Summary: Pumpkins come into their own in the fight to stop THRUSH plans.





	You shall go to the Halloween Ball!

“Mr Norris Simple is here, Mrs Honeycutt,” said the maid.

Mrs Honeycutt looked round as a dark young man was ushered into her sitting room. “Good afternoon, Ma’am,” he said with a little bow.

She gestured to a chair. “Please sit down, Mr Simple.”

The young man sat and waited for her to speak, perfectly relaxed and at ease. She looked him over, noting with approval his elegant deportment and attire, and seeing a man she could do business with. Mr Simple, for his part and without seeming to do so, took similar note of a number of aspects of his hostess and the general ambience, for future reference.

“Now, Mr Simple, I have been impressed with the arrangements you have outlined for my Halloween ball and I have a contract here for you to sign. I have also asked you here to show you the house and its setting.”

“Why, thank you Mrs Honeycutt. I’m deeply honoured,” said Mr Simple. “I hope to make this a party to remember.”

“I hope so too,” she agreed, “because your fees are very high.”

“They are, Ma’am – and that’s because I offer nothing but the best. My staff are well trained and will be attentive to all your guests’ desires.”

<><> 

The newly appointed Master of Ceremonies returned to his car and his chauffeur. “Home, James,” he said.

His chauffeur, possibly the least deferential (or attentive) of that ilk, snorted derisively and said, “You got the job then, Napoleon,” as they pulled away.

“Of course,” said that gentleman. He sat back, thinking. “… It’s a very fancy set-up there. The money is obviously hers.”

“It’s a second marriage for both, isn’t it – happy, would you say?”

“I didn’t meet Mr Honeycutt so I’ve no idea, though she wouldn’t be my idea of a comfortable wife.”

Illya (for it was he) laughed and made an unusually ribald remark, which Napoleon ignored with dignity. Instead, he continued, “There are three daughters – two of hers, one of his. I didn’t see them, either.”

“You will, Napoleon, you will… but how do we get to _him_?”

“Well, in the course of our tour of the house, his study was mentioned as being out-of-bounds to the party. He wasn’t to be disturbed if he took someone there. So, I guess we start there.”

“When do we start work?”

“Next week, two days before the party. I want you to get hold of as many big pumpkin lanterns as you can find.” Forestalling a sulk, he added, “On the day, of course, you’ll be in charge of the car parking arrangements. Nice big cars, Illya; you’ll love it.”

<><> 

The big Rolls drew up at the grand portal to enable the young women, carrying their many parcels, to step down without sinking their high heels into the deeply-gravelled driveway.

A deferential young man came forward to take the car away, his many uniform buttons gleaming as brightly as his hair in the sun. Mr Honeycutt, acknowledging the young man’s salute, followed his step-daughters into the house.

“Who’s he?” said Circe.

“Your mother has engaged staff for the ball. That one’s dealing with the parking arrangements.”

“How many staff?”

“No idea. There’s an MC, and I guess catering people – chefs, wine waiters, butler maybe, cloakroom people, flowers; the usual.”

“And Mom’s paying?” said Arachne.

“Sure, why not? It’s her party.”

<> 

Mrs Honeycutt smiled as her daughters entered, then frowned, perceiving ugly lines of discontent on their painted faces.

“What’s wrong, dears?” she cooed.

“Oh, Mom, can’t you do something about step-pa? He says Cindy has to come to the party,” said Arachne.

Mrs Honeycutt’s mouth set for a moment into an ugly line, then she relaxed. “It’s all right girls, there’s no way she could outshine you two. You know how she is: she may not want to come – she doesn’t even know how to apply make-up and I’m sure she doesn’t have anything to wear.”

She turned, hearing the click of footsteps approaching across the expanse of polished parquet flooring, saw it was her expensive Master of Ceremonies and would have glared but his smile disarmed her.

“Mr Simple,” she said as he came up to them, “my daughters. Please take any orders they may give you.”

Mr Simple bowed, “Ma’am, I’d be delighted to accept orders from such beautiful young ladies.”

The girls simpered and whispered together. He was very good-looking with his dark hair and masterful chin, and his suit was well-cut and immaculate – surely that was a silk tie? and were those Italian shoes? No wonder he was expensive.

“All right, girls – go away, I need to discuss important matters with Mr Simple.”

Disappointed, the girls went out through the garden doors into the garden, trailing reproachful looks. They found busy staff setting up the dance floor in a large purple tent-pavilion, and surrounding it with tables and lamps, all artfully draped in cobwebby net. Their step-sister was also there, talking to the man who had taken charge of the car when they arrived and who was now arranging pumpkins on the steps and paths in the garden. “God, she’s talking to the servants,” Arachne said disdainfully, and loudly enough to be heard. “We can’t possibly let her loose at the party – she’s bound to start talking to the waiters.”

Cindy, who had been laughing at something the young man had said, turned. Her face fell when she saw the two girls; she said something to the young man and walked back into the house. He turned and, seeing them, bowed slightly and when they turned their noses up and waved him away, saluted a little ironically.

“He’s quite good looking – nice hair, too,” the younger sister observed as he continued rolling pumpkins about.

“Oh, you! You’re as bad as Cindy – wait till we see Mom’s friends; they’re the ones with money and style. Look at him! He’d better wear a cap when people start to arrive – he needs a haircut.”

“Well I like it. Wonder what his name is?” said Circe.

“Who cares?”

<><> 

Cindy went to her father’s study and tapped on the door.

“Hello, dear,” he said, looking up from his accounts. “What do you want? I’m busy right now.”

“Daddy? This ball – for _her_ friends…”

“_Her_, Cindy? Your step-mother has a name – Hecate.”

“It _is_ for Hecate’s friends?”

“An important guy in Hecate’s business is coming,” he said, not answering her question. “He might be useful to _me_, dear.” He saw her frown and added, slightly shamefaced, “– it’s not great for a man to rely on his wife’s money for ever. The ball is for the girls …Mr Diamond’s bringing his son… I’m hoping one of the girls will be his type.”

“Selling one of them to the highest bidder? Oh, Daddy! What would Momma have said?”

Mr Honeycutt had the grace to blush a little. “Hecate would be so thrilled,” he said and seeing her turn away, added, “You will come to the party, won’t you?”

“I don’t know, Daddy. You know it’s not my thing.”

“Come… to please me. You look so pretty in that white dress. You can be a ghost.”

“Daddy, I’ve had that dress for years… and anyway… Daddy, I want to talk about going to college. They’ll have me, I know.”

Mr Honeycutt sighed. “Hecate won’t pay for you, sweetheart. If her boss will give me what I’m asking for the … what I want to sell, then maybe we can think about it.”

“What are you selling – it’s your formula, isn’t it? Daddy, it ought to be kept somewhere safe!”

<> 

When she left the study, Cindy first went to her room to do what he asked, then returned to help with the party arrangements. She found the Master of Ceremonies talking to the chauffeur with the gleaming hair. They seemed to know each other – not surprising, she supposed: the MC was probably his employer. They looked round as she came to join them. “I hope I’m not interrupting,” she said, and looked at the chauffeur. “I just wanted to apologise to you for my step-sisters’ rudeness earlier.”

The blue eyes opened in surprise. “Please, there’s no need,” he said.

The MC looked from one to the other and Illya said, “Miss Honeycutt and I were exchanging the time the day – her step-sisters saw us, that’s all.”

“Ah, Miss Honeycutt? I’m sorry, I didn’t realise... I thought…,” he stopped. “We haven’t been introduced – Norris Simple, MC for tonight’s ball.”

They shook hands, and Cindy said, “I saw you with my step-mother; I guess you thought I was one of her servants.”

“Servants?” said Illya. “– not staff?”

“She likes the idea of servants and she’s very demanding,” said Cindy, “She sees me as …“ She stopped and looked round. “… I’d better go.” And with that, she moved away quickly and left them.

Illya frowned. “They treat that girl like dirt. Her step-sisters do absolutely nothing but spend money, but I found her cleaning in the kitchens yesterday.” He looked round to check they weren’t overheard. “There’s her father too. He’s in a gilded cage. I don’t know what hold they have over him but it looks like he’s caught up in something he has no say in, and probably no real idea of.”

“…with a dangerous formula that he wants to sell.”

<><><> 

As guests started to arrive, attired in a variety of necromantic, mildly gruesome, or demonic costume suitable for All Hallows’ Eve, Napoleon observed that Cindy had not changed into any kind of party wear – she was even wearing an apron and it looked as if she planned, or had been told, to work in the kitchens. That didn’t seem right.

Illya was busy managing the car-parking arrangements. Some guests were happy for him to take their cars away, but others preferred to park their own cars, notably the most important guest, Vince Diamond, who arrived with his son and bodyguard in a chauffeur-driven Cadillac.

Illya showed the chauffeur where to park and then took him to the servants’ quarters, to be given refreshments for those of lowly status. The bodyguard, however, remained with his employer at a discreet distance.

He was about to return to his post when Napoleon attracted his attention from outside the pavilion. “Illya, have you seen Cindy?”

Illya shook his head, “Why?”

“She seems to have been told to work with the catering staff. See if you can find her and persuade her to change and be a daughter, not a servant.”

“What makes you think she’ll listen to me?”

“She obviously likes you,” Napoleon winked.

Illya raised an eyebrow. “Well? – that’s all it is, Napoleon.”

“And she’s in no danger from you, either – I know that – but with those looks, she might be from some of the weird characters here. Go and find her.”

<> 

It seemed Illya had been successful, because when Cindy emerged from the house to join the party, she had indeed changed. Napoleon sighed a little at her appearance. Her dress was neat and sweet, but hardly Halloween, and the white shoes were clearly worn and rewhitened. She also wore almost no make-up and looked like what she was, not so much ghost-like, but young and rather vulnerable.

Mrs Honeycutt was gushing over the young Thrush, Lex (all in red as Mephistopheles), as she introduced her own daughters. After a little of this, Lex excused himself and entered the tent and Napoleon, watching, saw him encounter Cindy, whom he apparently asked to dance. She looked embarrassed but allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor. Napoleon would have watched longer but several overdressed, bejewelled witch-dowagers took his attention, anxious to ask him about his terms for their own parties.

<><> 

There was a lot of noise coming from the pavilion, from guests who had imbibed freely. Midnight had just struck so Illya gave up waiting for late-comers and headed back towards the servants’ quarters. As he did so, he became aware of a ghostly figure running through the shrubbery – Cindy in her white dress. She saw him and beckoned, with a finger to her lips.

“Don’t tell anyone I’m here,” she whispered.

“Why? What’s happened?”

“Look at my dress.”

Illya looked. It was smeared with cigarette ash and splashed with red wine. “How? Why?” he said.

“One of the guests jumped me. I suppose he thought I was… It’s my only dress…”

Illya smiled approvingly when she added, “I scratched him and ran away.”

“Where’s your father? Shouldn’t you tell him about this?”

“I can’t. He mustn’t offend these people… he’s in his study selling something to my step-mother’s boss … he needs the money. Oh… I shouldn’t be saying all this. Please forget it. I’ll be in such trouble.”

Illya frowned. “Don’t worry, I won’t betray you, but if you can’t talk to your father, why don’t _you _go back and challenge the man who did this?”

“Because… because,” she spluttered. “Well, I can’t go back looking like this!”

“Miss Honeycutt, are you a man or a mouse? – a woman or a mouse, I mean,” said Illya.

“It … it might create a scandal.”

“So what? What’s your life here, if not a scandal? Look at the way you let them treat you! Why not do something about it!”

She stared at him, seeing him now as not just a chauffeur – someone polite and deferential, treating her like an important person – but as a good-looking man, challenging her to stand up for herself; to stop being downtrodden, to stop accepting other people’s assessment of her as a creature of no account.

He said more gently, “You’re a beautiful woman – you know that? It’s a misguided social convention, but that alone gives you power – if you choose to use it.”

His matter-of-fact interpolation cancelled her blush. “I know what I’ll do…” she said. “I’ll show them! Come with me, I need your help.” She caught his hand and he was obliged to follow as she ran round to the side of the house and entered by the servants’ door. Still holding his hand, she made him run up the back stairs with her, but when she tried to bring him into her bedroom, he demurred and held back.

“It’s all right. I just want you to lift a big trunk down for me.”

It wasn’t the easiest of objects to manoeuvre down from the top of a wardrobe but, in defiance of his deceptively slender appearance, Illya brought it down without rupturing himself or dropping it. He watched her open it. A faint perfume arose from its contents, which seemed to be wrapped in tissue-paper. She looked up. “These were my Mother’s dresses. I used to try them on when I was little… I want to see if any of them fit me now I’m older.”

“I see,” said Illya, not seeing at all.

“Turn around while I change. I won’t be long,” she said, newly assertive.

Sighing a little, he turned and waited… and waited.

<><> 

The ball had been going for some time. Napoleon had kept an unobtrusively watchful eye on his employer and her daughters, who circulated among the guests like predatory cats. Mr Honeycutt had disappeared some time ago, and Napoleon could only sympathise – some of these people were distinctly unsavoury in character as well as appearance – but when he became aware that Vince Diamond and his bodyguard were also no longer in evidence, he began to feel concern.

He retreated to what Mrs Honeycutt referred to as the butler’s pantry and pulled out his communicator.

<><> 

“Okay, you can look now.”

“Good grief,” said Illya and blinked at the transformation. In a low-cut black velvet dress webbed with silver lace, her hair pinned up under a silver mantilla, and wearing her mother’s silver-embroidered shoes, she was no longer a little kitchen girl in a teenager’s party dress. She looked much older; a different person in make-up. He cleared his throat and tried to speak.

At that moment, his communicator sounded so he turned his gaze away and sat down on her bed to answer it.

“No, I’m with Miss Honeycutt … in her bedroom… no, of course not. I’ve been helping her with something heavy. What? All right, I’ll ask her where it is and go and look for him.”

In considerable astonishment, Cindy listened to this and said, “Who are you? Really?”

“Never mind that now. I need to find your father’s study – he may be in danger.”

“Oh!... I’ll take you there.”

“No.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“No, you’re not… Oh, I see, you’re coming with me.”

This conversation seemed strangely familiar… Encouraging her to be assertive seemed to have worked only too well. He wasn’t sure whether he approved but, resigned to fate, he followed her along one of the corridors to the opposite end of the house.

“Now, keep out of sight, at least,” said Illya when they stopped outside the study.

“I’m staying here,” she said firmly but when he pulled out his gun and tried the door, she backed away in alarm.

“It’s all right, there’s no-one here,” he said, and entered. Cindy followed him and gaped as they looked around at the shambles within, lit only by a single lamp in a far corner. Everything had been overturned and there was paper all over the floor.

“Where’s Daddy?”

“Cindy – Miss Honeycutt – do you know where your father kept that formula?”

“Formula?”

Illya looked impatient. “Yes. Formula – you are the only person he might have told.”

“First, tell me who you are.”

“My name is Illya Kuryakin and I work for the U.N.C.L.E. – it’s a law enforcement agency.”

“Can you prove it?”

Illya sighed, but despite himself was impressed. This young woman should go far. He drew out his ID and showed her. “All right, Mr… Kuryakin. I do know where it is and I know they haven’t found it,” she said, handing it back. “But what is the formula to you?”

“It’s of no interest to me, but it _is_ to THRUSH.” Seeing her mystified look, he added, “THRUSH is a kind of evil empire, which your stepmother and her guests belong to. We want to keep the formula out of their hands before they put it to …shall we say, unsocial use.”

Illya returned his ID to his pocket but in doing so, his back was turned to the door and his attention was distracted. Cindy had no time to cry a warning when a figure wearing a black cloak suddenly rushed in and felled him with a blow. She flung herself down beside him and was on her knees when Lex followed his father into the room, and in the poor light neither of them recognised her.

“What are _they_ doing in here?” said Lex.

“Just another canoodling couple, I guess. They’re in the way,” said his father.

Cindy, supporting the apparently helpless Illya in her lap, smiled grimly at this. It was a good excuse but it also reminded her that Illya’s gun must be on the floor somewhere. She bent over his body and felt along his arm as if to shift his weight, and found the weapon lying beside him. Concealing it wasn’t easy – it was heavy – but it was in shadow so she tucked it under the skirt of her dress.

Lex and his father were now searching the room. “Not enough light to see by. Hoppy must have missed it,” said Vince. “It has to be here.”

He tried to switch on the desk light but it had evidently been broken in the mêlée. There was no centre light so for the moment Cindy remained unidentified. She felt Illya stirring and bent over to hush him in case he should speak. His eyes opened and she realised that he was fully aware. The two THRUSH men were otherwise occupied when she felt for the gun and pushed it back into Illya’s hand. His fingers closed on it and she felt him tense like a cat about to spring. She put her hands under his shoulders to help and as he jumped up, he said, “Go, quickly!” and Cindy scuttled away half on hands and knees, out of the door leaving Illya in command of the situation.

She went first to her father’s bedroom, found it empty and ran down the back stairs and out into the pavilion. He wasn’t there, but her appearance created a sensation and someone immediately swept her into a dance from which she escaped with difficulty, losing a shoe as she fled.

<><> 

Napoleon, having emerged from the pantry, started to make his way to Mr Honeycutt’s study, bearing for camouflage purposes a tray with a bottle and some glasses on it. He would have succeeded unnoticed but for the intervention of Arachne.

“Who’s that for? We don’t allow glasses to be taken away from the party area.”

He smiled and said, “Your father called down – it’s for him.”

“My _step_-father, and he doesn’t drink.”

“It must be for his guest.”

“I’ll come with you,” she said, picking up her black net skirts.

Napoleon bent his head in acknowledgement and they went up the stairs together. The study door was open and as they entered, they saw a figure holding a weapon, aimed not at them but at two other figures in the room.

Napoleon drew his own weapon and gently pushed the startled Arachne into the room. “You too, Miss Honeycutt,” he said.

She turned and snapped, “_My_ name’s not Honeycutt, it’s Ruby.”

“My apologies, Miss Ruby. Please join the Diamonds over there,” he said, indifferent to her annoyance. “Everything in hand, my friend?” he said to Illya.

“Not quite. Mr Honeycutt is missing and there’s blood around his desk. They refuse to say anything.”

“And Miss Honeycutt?”

“Safe, I hope.” Illya sounded a little strained. Napoleon looked more closely and saw how white he was.

“Have you been in the wars, my friend?”

“Yes. I’m fine – just a headache.”

Napoleon opened his communicator to call in the back-up squad and medics while Illya maintained guard over their prisoners. Then they ushered them out and down the stairs.

<><> 

After he had finished wrecking the study, bodyguard Hoppy Kovacs ran out to look for his employer. Mr Honeycutt, left alone, staggered out and stumbled his way to his room. He had a cut over his eye and was bleeding. He sat down on the bed to mop his brow and take a sip from the glass of water on the nightstand. He wondered if they would think of his daughter … she might now be in danger. Where was she? He must find her. He stood up again and made his way to the door and walked unsteadily down the backstairs and out of the side door. He wandered round the front of the house and ended up among the brightly shining pumpkins on the back terrace.

Hecate glared horribly as he approached the top of the steps down into the garden; that, and her purple satin garments, made her an alarmingly convincing witch. Her husband appeared to be swaying, and in the flickering light from the pumpkins she noticed the smears of blood on his face. Maybe Diamond had been a little rough. Summoning Circe (a ghoul draped in a white silk winding sheet, with blood-red lips and kohl-rimmed eyes), she sent her to get rid of him.

“Oh! Mom, look. He’s hurt.”

Mr Honeycutt clutched the rail as he climbed down, then fell on his knees. He seemed to have dropped something because he cried out and picked something up from where it had been lying under a shrub.

“What’s he holding that shoe for?” Hecate growled. “Stupid fool. Take him away before anyone sees him. Go on, girl!”

Circe bent over him and tried to take the shoe from his hand but he clutched it, muttering, “My wife’s here. My wife’s here… Alice! Where’s Alice?”

“Your wife’s Hecate,” she said, thinking he’d gone mad.

“No, no. This is Alice’s. She’s here! Alice!” he shouted.

At that moment, flashing lights announced the arrival of the cavalry: several vehicles full of armed UNCLE agents. Women screamed and ran away into the dark, among them Hecate, who evaded capture and made for the garage. Everyone else was rounded up and herded into the pavilion, including guests who had been otherwise engaged in dark corners of the house. Napoleon and Illya now made their appearance with the Diamonds, father and son.

“Where’s Mrs Honeycutt?” said Napoleon, noticing immediately who was missing.

“The cars!” said Illya and, ignoring his headache, felt in his pocket, picked up one of the pumpkins and set off at a run.

<><> 

Unsuccessful in her search, Cindy was in darkness when she saw Hecate entering the big garage where the big Rolls was housed. Correctly divining her step-mother’s intention, and in her bare feet, she ran down the gravel drive to the big steel gates. She heard the engine’s loud purr approaching as she closed the first gate. As she dashed across to close the other gate, she saw the strange sight of Illya running ahead of the car. He was holding a pumpkin out in front of him – its blazing grimace highlighting his own. The car coming up fast behind him, he threw the pumpkin under the front wheels, flung himself to the ground and rolled away as it blew up.

Flames roared into the air around the car. The heat was intense. Appalled, Cindy could only stand and watch. Illya appeared beside her. “Are you all right?” he asked.

She looked away from the flames and up into concerned blue eyes, “Is she… did she get out?”

“No. I don’t think so. I’m sorry you had to see that.” He put an arm round her shoulder and looked down. “My feet hurt … I lost my shoe,” she said.

“You’re bleeding,” he said. “We’d better get you cleaned up. I’ll carry you.” Taking her acquiescence for granted, he lifted her and started back to the house.

“Have you seen my father, Mr Kuryakin?” she asked.

“Yes, I saw him – he was with one of your step-sisters.”

“Oh, thank God.” Relieved of her main concern, she said, “Did _you_ make that pumpkin blow up the car like that?”

“I did, actually,” he said.

“You’re clever, aren’t you.”

“Er… yes, I am… actually.”

“And modest with it,” she giggled.

<><> 

The THRUSH people and the other guests were being processed by Section Three agents in the pavilion. Napoleon, in the saloon, was keeping an eye on Mr Honeycutt and his step-daughters who were all ignoring each other. He looked round when Illya appeared with an attractive young woman in his arms and his eyes widened as he put her down. Where had _she_ come from – more to the point, how come Illya had found her first?

Mr Honeycutt, clutching his wife’s silvery shoe, leapt up and rushed to embrace his daughter who was still carrying the other one. “Alice! Alice, it’s you!”

Cindy stepped back out of his arms, surprised and alarmed. “Daddy… it’s me… Momma’s dead.”

“Cindy? But this is her shoe… I thought… I thought your mother had come back.”

“No, Daddy,” she said gently, and showed him the one she held. “Her shoes fit me. And her dress. She isn’t here … not now… You knew that, really.”

He sniffed, “Oh, Cindy…I really hoped…”

Illya, who had had a brief word with Napoleon, now said, “I’m afraid we have more bad news for you, sir. Your wife Hecate has had an accident. I’m sorry, but she is dead, too.”

Mr Honeycutt raised his head and wiped his eyes. “She wasn’t a good woman,” he said, simply. “I should never have been taken in by her… Now we can be happy again, can’t we, Cindy?” and put his arm round her again.

Napoleon, relaying the same news of their mother to her daughters, was shocked when they both cried, “But what’ll happen to _us_? She never made a will!”

“I imagine the lawyers will tell you how much of her estate is left to you,” he said coldly.

“What about _him_?” snapped Arachne, pointing at her step-father disdainfully.

“Arachne… don’t,” whispered Circe. “We can let him have some…”

“Shut up, stupid.”

Interrupting what looked like becoming an unevenly-matched fight with red-painted claws, Napoleon said even more coldly, “I believe spouses get half of an estate, even if there is no will.”

“_What!_” they shrieked.

<><> 

Watching a happier pair, Illya asked, “Just as a matter of interest, what _did_ you do with the formula?”

Cindy smiled and said, “I have it right here,” and to Illya’s embarrassment, produced it from the budding cleavage at the opening of her dress.

“I’m going to destroy it, right here and now,” said Mr Honeycutt and, taking it from her, he dropped it into the nearest pumpkin where it flared, burned and died.

“What will you do now? Will you stay here?”

“No, I think I’ll sell up – those girls must have their share, and Cindy wants to go to college.”

“And I’d like to know how I can get to be an UNCLE agent after I’ve been to college,” said Cindy.

“I can tell you all about that,” said Illya, offering his arm.

Mr Honeycutt smiled approval and let them go.

Napoleon, less appreciative of his partner’s adroit mastery of the situation, watched wryly as Illya walked away with Cindy and wondered what _he_ was going to do with two deadly females of the species.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't intend this as a Halloween story, but as there are pumpkins involved...
> 
> Hecate: the Greek goddess of magic, witchcraft, the night, moon, and necromancy.  
Arachne challenged the goddess Athena and was turned into a spider; Circe was a sorceress in Homer’s ‘The Odyssey’.


End file.
